


you reveal the darkest versions of yourself at the precipice

by coffeeandchemicals, red_plaid_on_red_plaid



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 4x09, Canon Disabled Character, Character Study, Episode Tag, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandchemicals/pseuds/coffeeandchemicals, https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_plaid_on_red_plaid/pseuds/red_plaid_on_red_plaid
Summary: You are standing on the top of the cliffs, chest heaving, throat parched, wishing that you were back in the Doldrums. Because, even though you were starving, dying of dehydration, lips cracked, skin burnt and flaking, maybe from the sun, maybe from too many days with mere mouthfuls of water, even though you were sure that death was coming for you, at least Flint was not looking at you then like he is now.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw & John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	you reveal the darkest versions of yourself at the precipice

**Author's Note:**

> I dragged [red_plaid_on_red_plaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_plaid_on_red_plaid) into a new fandom... So we decided to write this fic. Also, I’ve read so many good second person POV fics, that I really wanted to try it. So, new fandom and new writing style for the win!
> 
> I watched episode 4x09 and could not get over the flashbacks in it. They were so compelling. And those flashbacks are where this fic came. 
> 
> The suicidal thoughts tag is further explained in the end notes.

You are standing on the top of the cliffs, chest heaving, throat parched, wishing that you were back in the Doldrums. Because, even though you were starving, dying of dehydration, lips cracked, skin burnt and flaking, maybe from the sun, maybe from too many days with mere mouthfuls of water, even though you were sure that death was coming for you, at least Flint was not looking at you then like he is now.

You remember saying _we might be friends by then_. And fear had curled in your gut when Flint had looked at you, eyebrows raised as if to say _I doubt that, I doubt that very much_. And you had vowed to prove him wrong.

And you had.

You are standing at the cliff edge, feeling every pebble of the rocky outcrop through the thin soles of your boots. The irony is that, even though you feel the aberrations in the soil under both feet, when you look down, the left one will still be missing. A phantom limb, even though, on many days, it still feels like it is there — an itch on your ankle you cannot scratch, a cramp in your calf you cannot work out, a blister on your heel developed from ill-fitting boots that are often more damp than dry — you are haunted by it. On other days, though, all you can feel is pain, all you can feel is the lack of your foot, your calf, the stability that most men take for granted. And yet, here you stand, real rocks under a ghostly appendage, the throbbing in your leg in time with the beating of your heart; you hear the blood pounding in your ears; your breaths come in quick gasps — not just because Flint has been training you to fight, to find your balance despite, now, being inherently unbalanced — it is because he is looking at you, truly looking, seeing that everything you have told him about your past has been a falsehood. A story designed to misdirect. And you are unable to talk your way out of it.

You remember saying _there is no ‘we’_. You remember when Flint had looked at you and said _I need your help_. And you had helped him. You wove words into a speech that enticed the men to follow him. And, then, without needing to be asked, you kept doing it, kept reminding them that Flint was the way to having something, to belonging somewhere, to being someone other than what the world saw them as.

You even convinced yourself of this truth.

You sacrificed your body and your health because you believed it. And Flint had told you that the men had made you quartermaster and said _the more those men need you, the more you need them. And it drives us to do the most unexpected things_. You could hardly look at him when he said that because you knew it was true, but mostly about him and not the other men (at least not yet). You needed Flint and you had betrayed him; Flint’s gratitude, his small grin, the flickers of relief that clouded his features added to your pain. Death by a thousand cuts and you were the only one to blame for it. So, you steeled yourself. You told him a half-truth all the while knowing that this half-truth would make things so much worse when Flint found out your part in it. But you could not bear to see the rage and disappointment and _indifference_ that would spread across Flint’s face when he discovered your betrayal. When you confirmed that what he thought about the world and the people in it was true — that he could not trust anyone, be vulnerable with anyone, and that everyone would eventually leave him adrift in an ocean of his own loneliness and pain.

You remember saying _whatever happens out here, one thing is certain, you will account for me_. 

And he had.

And you wondered if you were Flint’s equal. You wondered if Flint would ever treat you as his equal. You wondered if you would ever let yourself be his equal or just keep him on the pedestal you had created for him. How can he not be on that pedestal? His legend was larger than life.

You are standing at the edge of a precipice and you are wondering how likely it is the fall will kill you. A stumble, a misstep, placing your crutch down on _just_ the wrong surface, watching it crumble, knowing that you are not healed enough, not strong enough to save yourself. You wonder if you would welcome the end, face it with the same acceptance and peacefulness Muldoon (you could not let yourself think of Muldoon too often, that wound was still too deep and too raw) had showed, while you railed against the injustice of it. And you wonder if the death that awaits you will be worse than this yawning crevice in your chest. Its emptiness makes itself known, a punch to the gut that leaves you gasping, every time you contemplate your death and Flint’s death and the thought of your life without Flint in it. 

You remember saying _I’m acutely aware there may be no one closer to you in the world right now than I_. And Flint had scorned this response saying _you don’t need to worry that you will be my end_. But you had seen the uncertainty in his eyes.

You always look at his eyes, trying to discern what he wants to say instead of what he is actually saying. And it is going to get you killed. You know this. You have known it since he held you against those cliffs, knife at your throat, eyes wild, as he asked you for the schedule. You know it has just taken this long for that knife to slice across your flesh and cause your blood to spill out. You know your body is just waiting to catch up to what Fate has already ordained: Flint will be the end of you.

Unless you end him first. But you do not want to be the downfall of James Flint. You do not think you would survive that. You do not want to survive that.

So you wait and watch his eyes, watch the way he moves, see the downturn of his mouth and the set of his shoulders as he becomes everything the world has said he is, as he turns into the villain that he does not want to be. And you know that it is tearing him apart, because he is still too much the man he was when he asked you what you thought of him and wondered if the men on the beach also thought he was the villain of this tale, leaving Charles Vane the hero. Even though Flint has suffered insurmountable loss since you told him _I’d hate to be you_ , he is still very much the same man, and playing the villain tears strips away from him, hollowing him out, until you know and he knows, that all that is left is the shell of Flint, driven by rage and betrayal and desolation.

And you want to reach out, clasp a hand on his shoulder, tell him to set the world on fire, tell him it does not matter what anyone thinks, just what you think. Because he holds your fate in the palm of his hand, in the tone of his voice, in the glances he gives you when no one is looking.

“You are still watching my eyes, which is a good way of getting yourself killed,” Flint says, voice mild, face impassive, eyes burning. And you cannot tell him that is all you spend your time doing. His eyes have mesmerised you; they have pulled you in and trapped you.

But he has broken everything you tried to build. He asked of you the one thing you cannot give him: your history. You have no history, no story in which to impart, because, in doing so, you will irrevocably change the way he looks at you. But he is pleading with you saying _you know my story_. And you do. You see how it drives him forward, always forward, because to look back, to face such despair, would surely destroy him. 

Except.

Except that is a lie, because he did look back. He gathered the worst pieces of his history and spread them out on the sand for you to see. In the dark, before the eve of a battle that he was not sure he would survive, Flint told you his secrets. He bared his soul to you, knowing that it might be the end of him — the end of this precarious friendship that was teetering on an inherent power imbalance and so many words that were not said — because he trusted you. 

And here he is, looking at you, trying to understand why you do not feel the same way. 

You want to tell him you trust him. Because you do. You have given him your life and you keep doing so everyday you do not end his. Because you know he will be the end of yours. But you do not say any of this. The words are stuck in your throat. 

You want to bare your soul to him, to tell him the worst pieces of your own history, to trust him with the darkest versions of yourself. But you cannot. You cannot spread yourself out on the sand, vulnerable and afraid; what if he cannot — _will not_ — accept you? What if you ruin the balance that you have finally struck with him? What if he looks at you and when you finally meet his eyes, you confirm your worst fear — he finds you wanting; you are not enough? You want to be the person that he sees at this very moment, the John Silver that he knows. You have decided that your past does not — _cannot_ — matter because you are fairly certain you did not exist before you met James Flint.

You are standing on a cliff with a sword at your throat. You wonder if leaning into the blade will free those words. But you cannot do that to Flint.

You try to explain, try to appeal to him by saying, “You know of me all I can bear to be known. All that is relevant to be known. That is to say, you know my genuine friendship and loyalty. Can that be enough and there still be trust between us?”

You see the sharp intake of breath, Flint’s nostrils flaring, his eyes hardening, the lines around his mouth deepening as he frowns in confusion, in disappointment. And you know. You know that you have failed him. He is clinging to the net, reaching for your hand to pull him aboard, but you have let him fall.

It hurts you. This failure that you have inflicted on him. You do not want to let him fall — you want to be the hand that he reaches for, the person that he trusts to help him up.

You remember your words to him on the first day of this training: _but if every man fights differently, seems to me what you'll really be teaching me is how to defeat you_. But now you know the reverse is also true. You have taught him how to defeat you. 

And one day, probably very soon, you will be standing on the precipice, Flint’s sword at your throat, and he will not pull back saying _again_. No, this time, he will finish what he started on the Wrecks. And maybe you will welcome it. And maybe you won’t. 

But, at least, you won’t be the end of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, suicidal thoughts tag: Silver is not actual suicidal, he just really wants to get out of this confrontation with Flint (and we’ve written him as probably having some depression issues), so to avoid that, Silver ponders death (but he doesn’t actually want to die).
> 
> The dialogue has been taken from various episodes throughout all four seasons.
> 
> Any comments or kudos are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> We are on tumblr! You can find us @ [redplaid-on-redplaid](https://redplaid-on-redplaid.tumblr.com/) and @ [coffeeandchemicals](https://coffeeandchemicals.tumblr.com/).


End file.
